***All characters are over 18 and are fictional. Any resemblance to any real-life person is purely coincidental. This story was written by an adult, for adults.
...
"What's in that box?"
Uncle Jed's garage was that uniquely southern blend of part horror film set and part well-worn garage. It had always creeped him out as a kid. Despite his father saying he'd grow out of it, his skin still goosepimpled while standing around and watching his Uncle try to diagnose the latest rattle in his family's truck. Simon still called it that despite it only being used by him to commute back and forth from his college. Simon often blamed this heap of used parts and rust for his lack of an active social life. No self-respecting lady would be caught dead in this thing.
His Uncle Jed seemed to know the exact one without lifting his head from the engine.
"Boy, that there is a time-traveling machine for your pecker. Go take a gander."
Simon knew Uncle Jed was smiling that lecherous grin of his. That grin creeped out his sisters and all of his female cousins. Nobody had ever said Uncle Jed acted inappropriately, but it always seemed in the realm of possibility.
This box was unlike any of its neighbors. Surrounded by aging oil-stained cardboard boxes, the wooden box looked more like a small footlocker. There was a moment of hesitation before Simon bent down to slide it out of the pile. The legend of Pandora's Box sprung into his developing academic mind as he looked down at it. There was a war between the tug of his ever-present horniness and the creepy vibe of the situation.
"It ain't going to bite you, boy. Just open it already."
And with a short tug, it slid out. A simple action, yet it felt like something bigger had occurred. Something unnatural made Simon's neck hairs stand up.
The wooden box was probably the only dust and grime-free object in the garage. The hinges were clean and well-oiled. It opened with the ease of a thing treasured, or more precisely, the contents inside were.
"Nudie magazines?!?" said Simon, a strong note of disappointment in his voice.
"Boys nowadays are spoiled." echoed Uncle Jed's voice off the open hood of the truck. "Y'all just tappy tap tap in your phones and poof. All the world's porn pops up. A damned cornucopia of women, all shapes and sizes, doing whatever you all type into the search bar."
Uncle Jed stood up and wiped his hands on an already filthy rag.
"But back in my day, this was all you had, and that's if you were lucky enough to find or steal one. I stole my first one from your grandpappy. He hid them all around his barn but was forever forgetting where. One had a lady made up to look like a nurse. I took it. I've had those giant white boobs burned into my brain ever since."
Simon noted this explained the parade of girlfriends that eventually all stomped out of his Uncle's screendoor. They all had two things in common, bad taste in men and giant boobs.
"So all you had was your magazines and your imagination. I don't know if young ladies have changed since, but in my day, they all held onto their assets like bank guards."
Simon would have liked to share his personal experiences on the matter, but his Uncle had an uncanny knack for seeing through any attempt at a lie. Simon wasn't a virgin. But he wasn't a Cassanova either. His experiences were limited to awkward fumblings and rushed encounters. The looming threat of getting caught in the act had always been a buzzkill.
"Go on, take a gander at one." He chuckled and returned to looking in the engine. But then a sharpness slipped into his tone, "But don't even think about stealing one from me. I will take a crowbar to your knee, boy. Favorite nephew or not."
The first thing that Simon noticed was the hair. All of that hair they had down there.
Some of them were neatly groomed and shaved into various cute shapes. Sometimes, it was wild and unruly. Simon slowly discovered he had no preference either way. Sure, he was used to clean-shaven or small patches in the videos. But he was relieved that he had found no particular kink for either extreme.
Another difference was the lack of tattoos on these women. Simon had a complicated relationship with tattoos. His high school crush had gotten one on her ankle. He had spent entirely too much time staring at her long tanned legs. Her cheerleader's skirt and that delicate rose tattoo peeking above her ankle socks had featured in many an erotic daydream. But his favorite pornstar was an energetic petite champagne-haired actress with three words tatted on her ribcage. A looping cursive style tucked under her left arm, Simon had never been able to read them. The not knowing often distracted him from all the wonderous things she was doing in her scenes and having done to her.
Simon browsed through a dozen different magazines while waiting. There was no particular order to them. The magazines covered a range of styles and decades. Some were more hardcore than others. Simon had initially assumed that the top ones would reflect his Uncle's particular tastes. But that didn't seem to be the case. Simon smiled to himself that his Uncle Jed might have an organized rotation to his stash of porn magazines.
"Found you! Slippery son of a bitch was hiding in the grime!" laughed Uncle Jed. "I get this bolt tightened, and she'll be purring like a tomcat with a can of tuna. 15-minutes max, so wipe your pecker and put it back in your pants, boy."
...
Simon admitted on the ride back to his parent's house that his Uncle had a knack. Without him, the truck would have been in the junkyard years ago. His parents probably saw that as a blessing. Simon was more comfortable with seeing it as a curse. Or at least it was kinder to his ego to blame the truck for his lack of success with the ladies.
Rounding the last bouncy dirt road corner, he noted the family house was darker than it should have been.
"Too early for everyone to be in bed," he thought as he drove up the hill toward the house. There was an out-of-town high school gymnastics meet tomorrow that his two sisters were competing in. But experience told him they'd stay up late with pre-meet jitters, not get a good night's sleep.
He climbed up the steps to the house's wrap-around porch, noting his Dad's SUV was gone. Opening the backdoor to the kitchen, he saw the folded note addressed to him in his mother's distinctive chicken scratch handwriting.
"Simon, we went ahead and took the girls to their meet early. We'll get a hotel room near there. The satellite dish broke again. The girls were bouncing all over the house without their Wi-Fi. Your father was fixing to strangle them both. It being the weekend, they won't be able to get anyone out to look at it until Monday. Go to the library if you got homework to do on your laptop. We will probably stay in the hotel Saturday night and come home Sunday. I don't think your father wants to hear the girls whining about nobody being able to reach them on their cellphones any longer than he has to. God forbid the girls ask anyone to call the houseline.
There's plenty of food in the fridge. Call us if you need anything.
Love,
Mom."
Simon absently scrolled on his useless phone while microwaving some leftover pizza. Nothing. No bars, no signal. He had an empty house, finally all to himself, but every entertainment option was gone. Worst of all, no access to porn.
There was no lying to himself. The trunk of nudie magazines had, to turn a phrase, primed the pump. Family or no family, he had planned on spending "alone time" in his room tonight. Maybe find a video of the energetic blond with her tattoo facing the other way. A plan ruined by another piece of junk his parents should have replaced by now.
Lethargically, he trudged up the stairs chewing on the pizza. His bookbag thumped on each stair as he dragged it along. The weight of the day was on the verge of completely overwhelming him. He dropped his things on the floor and kicked his sneakers off before falling back onto the unmade bed. As he finished the pizza, he watched the unmoving display of his phone through heavy eyelids.
...
The flash of heat lightning outside was the first thing to rouse him from his restless sleep. His eyes blinked open. The house was completely dark. Clicking his bedside light repeatedly, he cursed his luck.
"Wonderful. Power's out now too."
Fumbling, he removed the rest of the clothes he had fallen asleep in. With the air conditioning out now, his room was getting too warm. He opened his squeaky bedroom window. A cool breeze pushed through the gap making it more comfortable.
Simon stumbled back to bed and drifted back off to sleep.
...
